


Good Prince David

by MeadowHarvest



Category: Schitt's Creek
Genre: Boys Kissing, Fluff, Inspired by A Christmas Carol, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-30
Updated: 2019-11-30
Packaged: 2021-02-26 05:33:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,803
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21618427
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MeadowHarvest/pseuds/MeadowHarvest
Summary: David is good King Wenceslas. Patrick is the peasant.The song ends before the king and peasant kiss, but the story doesn't!
Relationships: Patrick Brewer/David Rose
Comments: 12
Kudos: 53





	Good Prince David

**Author's Note:**

> I've been listening to a lot of Christmas carols.¯\\_(ツ)_/¯
> 
> Thanks for reading!

Prince David paced around his chambers, unable to rest. He had no reason for his unrest; his table was laid with a succulent roast duck, fine cheeses, crisp warm breads, a goblet of the deepest red wine from the cellars. A fire burned brightly in the stone fireplace, casting dancing shadows on the warm wooden walls. Still, David paced.

“Eric?” he called to his page, who was standing beside the fire, waiting patiently to do David’s bidding. Eric was at his elbow in just a moment.

“Yes, sir?” he asked.

“Add another log to the fire. Please,” said David. He was chilled through, though there was no reason for that, either. He needed to do something, to be something, but he had no answers.

His father the king always talked about having a purpose, but David was beginning to realize he had none. His father ruled with a kind hand. His mother spun tales of fantastic nature. His sister captivated crowds wherever she went. But David? David stood by and watched, not a ruler, a storyteller, a siren.

Outside, the snowstorm that had been whirling had now calmed. David moved to the window to look out at the snow, which lay deep and crisp and even. The moon shone bright and the world was quiet.

His breath fogged the mullioned glass, but not before he saw movement. He cleared the glass with a brocaded sleeve and saw a peasant, arms full of branches. The frost was cruel; why would someone willingly be out gathering fuel right now?

“Eric? Come here, please,” he called again, and the page came. “That peasant? Who is he? Where’s his dwelling?”

Eric peered out the window. “Sir, he lives a good league, league and a half hence, nearer to the mountain. I think it’s over by the forest fence and St. Agnes fountain.”

The prince felt agitation rise up into his chest. “He can’t … it’s too cold!”

The agitation in David’s chest didn’t wane. If he was this chilled inside this warm castle, how must the peasant feel? Suddenly he wrenched himself away from the window.

“Here, bring me some duck. For him. Bring some wine, too, and get some pine logs. He’s going to freeze.”

David moved swiftly for the first time that day, or perhaps his life. Eric wrapped some duck and bread in a cloth and slid it into a satchel with a corked bottle of wine while David gathered his own wraps.

Soon they were clattering down the stone stairs to the heavy wooden door. The moment it opened, they were met with a burst of wind that felt almost rude in its fervor. Its wild lament rushed through their ears as they pressed on through the snow. Even with his furs, David could feel the bitter weather as he trudged behind the page. His eyes were trained on the peasant.

“Sir?” The page turned to speak over the wind. “The night is darker now, and the wind’s growing stronger. I feel like my heart’s failing. I can’t go for much longer.”

The prince felt his stomach drop. His poor page, forging ahead and taking the brunt of the weather. “Walk in my footsteps, Eric,” he said. “It’ll be warmer. I’ll let the winter’s rage freeze me first for once.”

The page looked grateful and David felt a lick of warmth inside. Page and monarch continued forth, David’s eyes fixed on his quarry. Finally, they approached him. The prince saw a young man in a rough woolen coat, arms full of branches and cheeks chapped by the cruel wind. The man looked surprised to see them.

“Hello,” said David, his voice feeling loud, even in the wind. “I’m…”

“Prince David,” the man said. “I recognize you.”

The prince was embarrassed. He didn’t know this man’s name. He wondered how to proceed when the man helped him. “Patrick.”

He proffered a mittened hand, and David shook it. “It’s so cold. I… brought you some food and wine. Eric, bring the pine logs hither.”

Patrick looked surprised. “You did this for me?”

David nodded uncertainly. Did he insult the man by offering charity? Why would he want David’s wood? David’s food? Perhaps he had a warm house with a wife and six rosy children and a meal waiting hot on the table.

But the look Patrick gave him made him think that maybe he didn’t have those things. There was a hunger in his eyes, and the prince couldn’t read if it was physical hunger or hunger for something else.

“Come back to the castle with me,” he blurted, and both the peasant and page looked surprised.

“This food must be cold, and the wine is likely frozen. Come dine with me.”

Patrick was silent, which scared the prince. It wasn’t a feeling he experienced often.

“Unless… you’ll be missed at home?” he offered.

“No. No one will miss me,” Patrick said. “I board with the brewer and his wife, and they think I’m at the feast of Stevie. She runs the boarding house down the lane.”

“Please come. The castle welcomes you. I… welcome you,” said David. Patrick finally nodded.

They turned to the stone monolith in the distance. “Walk behind me. I’ll break the wind,” said David and then blushed. If Roland the King’s Fool were there, he would have choice words on the subject. Behind him, he heard a bark of laughter from Patrick.

Now the wind was at their backs, as though encouraging them to move faster. Prince David was relieved when they finally reach the wooden doors. His legs shook and he shivered even after the doors closed behind them.

Soon after, they found themselves in David’s chambers. Eric took their wraps, and David’s heart tightened when he saw how meager Patrick’s woolen coat was. He wore a blue woolen sweater beneath it; the color brought out the reddish tints in his hair and his cheeks.

“Eric, please bring us more food and wine, and then please tell George to fix you a feast of your own,” said David. Eric nodded and exited the chamber, and David turned to see Patrick looking at him.

“You’re a good person,” said Patrick. David felt color creep into his cheeks.

“I was trying to be nice,” the prince said, looking down at the rich woven rug at his feet.

“Good is better than nice,” replied Patrick, and David looked up to meet his gaze. His eyes were lovely.

The page returned with the kitchen girl with auburn hair, and the prince felt ashamed for not knowing her name. She and Eric set steaming trays of food on the table, along with dusty bottles of wine. Beaming at them, she exited, and Eric bade them good night.

The chamber door closed and the sound echoed in the room. Patrick’s eyes glittered at the sight of all the food, and David noticed how hollow his cheeks were. Shame filled him again as he recognized hunger on Patrick’s face, when David had never been hungry in his life.

“Please, take as much as you like,” he offered, hoping Patrick wouldn’t feel embarrassed.

“Oh, I’ll take what I want,” said Patrick, smiling at David, who was taken aback at the boldness. He expected the hesitance and humility he’d observed among the other peasants when in the presence of the royal family.

They dined at the wooden table, conversing about the storm, the food, the wine. David stole glances at Patrick, watching how he savored every bite of meat and bread, every swallow of rich red wine. Patrick caught his eye and raised his goblet. “To good Prince David.”

“Nice Prince David,” said David before he could stop himself. Patrick laughed and shook his head.

His laughter uncorked something inside David, and he found himself looking at Patrick’s wine-stained lips. He had never been around someone who seemed so delighted by anything David said or did.

After supping, David was still chilled through, even through his layers of velvet and brocade. They moved closer to the fire, wine and cheese and the remainder of the bread on a small carved wooden table alongside the settee.

David liked to surround himself with beauty, and this was certainly a beautiful picture. Flames danced in the fire, reflected in Patrick’s beautiful eyes. The thought came unbidden to him, and David pushed it away.

He’d hosted many men and women in his chambers, but none of them made his heart flutter like the wings of the pretty little songbirds his sister kept in the aviary. Patrick had said he was a good person, but would a good person be watching the way the corners of Patrick’s mouth quirked up in a smile? Better to quash the thoughts before they even began, lest Patrick think David lured him there in an untoward manner.

But then David noticed Patrick was sitting slightly closer on the settee, and their hands brushed, which caused David’s heart to thrum so hard that if it were a songbird, it might just die.

“What’s it like to be a prince?” asked Patrick softly. David looked down at his lap. No one had ever asked him that before.

“Lonely.”

The word escaped before he could think. He was afraid to look at Patrick, worried that he sounded melodramatic. If his mother had said it, people would be laughing at the joke. But Patrick didn’t look at him like he was being a fool.

David felt Patrick’s hand close over his. Patrick’s hand was rough and David was sure his own was cold. But Patrick kept his hand there, and for the first time in his life perhaps, the prince felt as though he was truly seen.

David raised his eyes to Patrick’s face, and it was open and honest, and David hesitated for just a moment. Patrick’s eyes flickered down to David’s mouth and before David even realized what he was doing, he leaned in and kissed Patrick’s red lips.

Any worries he’d had left his body as Patrick responded joyfully. David’s smooth hands squeezed Patrick’s calloused ones before moving up to Patrick’s face, softly stroking his wind-chapped cheeks.

They broke apart, David breathing hard. “Thank you,” said Patrick in the same soft tone.

“For what?”

“That was a good kiss. And nice,” said Patrick, and laughter burbled up inside David. He felt tears in his eyes.

As Patrick leaned in for a second kiss, David realized he was no longer cold. And as they smiled and fed each other bits of cheese and sips of wine, he wondered what could possibly feel better than this.

*

From that night on, prince and peasant seemed to move beyond their titles and stations to a joyous partnership, discovering perhaps that David’s purpose was simply to love and be loved, Patrick at his side.


End file.
